


A Sweater

by GirlInLoveWithTheWrongWorld



Series: I wish I was [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Some Cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlInLoveWithTheWrongWorld/pseuds/GirlInLoveWithTheWrongWorld
Summary: It's not fate. You don't believe in such a thing.





	A Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> Another part of "I wish I was".
> 
> I just want to say thank you for reading and commenting! Your feedback is always appreciated and gives me the courage to actually post my writing on the internet!

A Sweater  
I wish I was a sweater wrapped around your hips  
And when it got too cold, into me you'd slip  
And when the sun came back, you would hang me up  
And I would watch you while you undress

You stare at the cake, trying to calm your nerves. He would be here any minute. And all you want to do is for the floor to swallow you whole. The day had been filled with nervous excitement but when the time came for him to pick up his cake, the more you dreaded seeing him again. The past two days, you tried hard not to think about him too often but to no avail. Somehow, your mind decided to torment you with his handsome face every time you closed your eyes. You couldn't count how often you cursed his stupid, beautiful, kind eyes. Sleep was almost nonexistent and your mood matched the bags under your eyes. Madeleine knew that something was up. Before, you had told her how you loved the time leading up to Christmas, how your family always celebrated the holidays and how you cherished this time of year – a time more magical than any other. You always had relished in decorating and baking, making jam and filling the lives of other people with love. So the day after the encounter with Bucky (he wasn't just a stranger now, he had a name), Madeleine saw the frown on your face and knew that something must have happened. She made you a hot chocolate and gave you a long hug and smiled at you. You were utterly grateful to have Madeleine in your life, now more so than ever. She didn't pry or ask you to cheer up; she accepted the scowl and the sarcastic comments without shrugging. 

The cake is sitting in a decorative box, ready to be picked up from its owner. The clock is ticking away the seconds and you manage to make yourself believe that he probably won't show up anyway. Maybe he is already celebrating the holidays with his family. And friends. And beautiful girlfriend. Maybe she decided to bake the cake herself, deciding that he didn't need yours after all. You scold yourself. No need to get ahead of yourself. He wanted a cake, you baked him one. A simple exchange of service and money. But you are a couple of minutes from closing down for the holidays and he is nowhere to be seen. Madeleine is in the front of the bakery, serving the last costumers when you hear the door bell chime. You know it's him. Somehow you know it's him. 

He tosses and turns in his bed. Well, not exactly bed but mattress. His apartment, while now being more than just a place to sleep in, is still not a home he can come home to. The garage is already closed for the holidays. He had had more than one heated conversation with Paul, arguing that he wanted to come in alone and work on a new project. But to no avail. Paul understood where he was coming from though. He knew how hard it was to find cheer and merriness while thoughts were running in circles. But Paul also told him to try. To simply try and see where the holidays would lead him. They would lead him to the bakery. If he ever finds the courage to get up that is because he is still lying on his mattress and the bakery closes in two hours. He has no idea how he came to open his mouth and open a fucking cake. He wanted to apologise, hell he just wanted to talk to her period. Now he had ordered a fucking cake without her knowing that he remembered her. During the past two days he spent every waking hour either cringing over the past encounters with her or obsessing over how he could talk to her now. So far he hasn't found a solution. The clock is ticking away the seconds and if he doesn't get up now the time she spent on making his cake would be wasted, he would not be on time before they would close down for the holidays. So he gets up, dresses and even checks his appearance in the mirror – something he would normally avoid. He used to be vain to a fault; now the bags under his eyes and the other arm remind him of who he has become. Even so, he wants to look... nice? Presentable? He has no idea how he wants to look. Looking into the mirror he notices how his hair is long; it almost reaches his shoulders now. He would need to cut it soon and maybe, if he could bring himself to be brave for once, he would go to an actual hairdresser and not pick up the scissors himself. His beard is also more than just stubble now. The man in the uniform, the soldier, used to be clean shaven. The dames didn't like how stubble felt on their skin. But he couldn't shave now. There is no time now. He picks up his jacket and backpack and leaves.

The trains are packed with people. He has never seen the trains so overflowing with people wanting to get back home. There are the daily commuters, he recognises them either from previous travels or simply by the fact that they don't carry any heavy luggage. There are those traveling home for the holidays. Those he recognises by their vast amount of luggage and cheery smiles on their faces. And there are those going into town to get some last shopping done. He recognises them by the scowl on their faces. A voice announces their next stop and he gets up.

The town is beautiful. Snow is softly falling and the lights give the houses a cozy feeling. He remembers that he used to love the holidays. He remembers going to church with his family when he was a young boy; he remembers meeting up with Steve and his family, talking and simply enjoying each other's company; eating cookies and cake and laughing so hard he was crying. He can see his family now, looking at a nearby window, sitting at the table. It is clear that they love one another deeply. Suddenly, his chest tightens and he has to look away. He tries to calm his breathing, and after a few moments, after reassuring himself that he is okay, everything is okay, he begins to walk to the bakery. It sits quietly at the end of a small alley, the lights still on. He breathes in. He breathes out. He walks up the three small steps and pushes the door open.

There are two people in front of him waiting to be served and she isn't there. He now knows why. She is the one responsible for all the beautiful treats in the bakery. Madeleine, Paul's friend, is the one who serves the customers. While he waits for his turn, he finally has the opportunity to glance around and actually see the bakery. Before, there were too many people there, making it impossible for him to see the room. There are chairs and tables for those who want to enjoy a quiet coffee right on the spot; pictures of Madeleine in various states of age, always pictured with a cake in her hand or actually baking. There is only picture of her though. She looks directly at the camera. Her smile is bright and her eyes shine with excitement. There is a chocolate cake in her hands. Just looking at her, he feels the happiness she experienced in that moment. He is jolted from his revery by an amused “Young man, is there something I can help you with?” and he turns around quickly. Madeleine is standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly. “I um.... I came to pick up my cake.”

You have no idea why but you find yourself in the small bathroom looking in the mirror. You aren't proud of it, but yes, you are currently hiding. Hiding from your stranger whose name is Bucky. Bucky who ordered a cake. Bucky who is here now to pick up his cake. Bucky with the kind, stupid, beautiful eyes. Why the hell are you in here? He is just a customer, that's what you keep telling yourself anyway. Someone picking up a cake that you made. But, try as you might, your feet won't move. You cannot face him. Not now and preferably not ever. He isn't just a customer; he is Bucky now, someone who helped you when you needed someone; someone you would want to talk to during the commercials before watching a movie in the cinema; someone who would make you smile after finishing a novel that made you cry; someone with the ability to turn a rotten day into one of the happiest simply by smiling at you. Simply put someone you could fall in love with. Yes, love. You know how strange that sounds. Love. You cringe when you think about it. You are not a stranger to the subject of love, you love your family and friends with all of your heart. But loving someone romantically is something else entirely. In your teens, there were a few instances when loving someone seemed like a possibility. But every time you were sure of your feelings, the other party was sure of theirs and it was not love. So you told yourself that maybe romantic love was not meant for you. You threw yourself into your career and loved every minute of it. You love your life; your friends, family and career used to be more than enough for you. You were happy. You are happy, even now in the tiny bathroom, but you wonder whether you are afraid of loving someone again. You are afraid of someone hurting you. And suddenly you are reminded of Amélie, that French movie you saw ages and ages and ages ago and won your heart over in an instant. Amélie is a dreamer who does everything in her power not to meet the person she loves even though she desperately wants to. In the end, it's the words of one of her best companions that give her the courage to open her apartment door: So, go get him, for Pete's sake. You sigh and open the door.

“Is that all, dear?” He nods. “Or can I get you anything else? Would you like a coffee? Or hot chocolate?” He shakes his head. “No, thank you. Uhm... Merry Christmas.” He opens the door and steps into the cold december air. 

She wasn't there. He didn't see her. Not even glimpse at her through the opened door. She wasn't there. Madeleine seemed perplexed as well. She had called out multiple times “honey, where are you” but there was no answer. After a few moments he heard a shuffle and Madeleine came out holding a box in which he assumes was his cake. 

He makes his way to the train station, cake box in a bag. He doesn't believe in fate, never has, but maybe the universe is trying to tell him something. 

With determination in every step, you make your way to the front of the bakery. You hope that he is still there; that he miraculously waited for you to come out from your hiding spot and patiently talks with Madeleine. You take a deep breath and open the door. 

He isn't there. Madeleine is humming “Driving home for Christmas” while wiping down the counter. Your face contorts. You wanted him to be there. You wanted to talk to him. You wanted... There is no use in wanting though. You had your chance, you blew it. Madeleine sees the look on your face and knows that something is wrong. “Shall I make you a hot chocolate, dear?” and you nod.

“So, you know, I don't usually pry, but... you've been quiet and frankly not yourself for the past couple of days. Do you want to talk about it?” The hot chocolate sits in front of you and you wait for it to cool down; the cream and marshmallows have already been devoured. You wait a moment to answer. Madeleine sighs and you look into her face. She is worried about you and you owe it to her to answer. But the words simply won't come out and she understands. “Is it possible... I mean, that young man. The one who ordered the plum cake. Does it have something to do with him?” You nod and suddenly you feel her arms around you. As the words pour out so do the tears. You feel foolish crying over someone you don't really know but Madeleine shushes you because she understands, she says. When you part, she smiles at you. “You know, from the first moment I saw you, I knew you were someone special. You are determined and headstrong and intelligent. You are gentle and kind and passionate. I knew that this woman would accomplish everything she sets her mind to. And I was right. Not because I am always right but because you're you. You are all that and more. And from what I saw of that young man, I think he saw that, too.” You look at her disbelievingly. “Don't look at me like that. I saw you outside. When he ordered the cake. He looked at you like you were something precious; something he isn't worthy of. When he was waiting for his cake earlier, I could tell he was waiting to see you. That's why I called you. I wanted you to go and take the cake out. And believe me, he wanted that, too. The look on his face when you wouldn't come... He looked so sad. But...” Madeleine takes a quick breath. “He will come back. Trust me. And if he doesn't come here, you will go to him. You can stop by the garage and drop by Paul's chocolate cake. And then” she pauses to give her words more dramatic gravity “you will talk to him. And you will laugh, and talk and enjoy each other's company. It's not too late, dear. Just don't wait too long.” Madeleine smiles and you cannot help but smile too. Maybe she is right.

He is standing at the deserted platform, waiting for the train to arrive when a voice announces that there will be a slight delay due to snow blocking the rails. Great. Fucking great. The only thing he wants to do is be at home and be out of this cold. He has started to hate the cold; started to ever since falling off the train. He also hates waiting. He had always been impatient but now he despised waiting. Too many things could happen while waiting. 

While he waits for the train to finally arrive, his mind wanders to her. The situation had been awkward to say the least. Madeleine had called out multiple times but she wouldn't come. He could not convince himself that she was simply somewhere where she couldn't hear her name being called out. No, she didn't show up because she didn't want to see him. She probably hid somewhere not to see his face. This realisation hurt, yes, but he couldn't blame her. He didn't give her any indication whatsoever that he recognised her, didn't express what he really wanted to say. So she did what he had done at their second meeting: she hid. There is movement at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform and he has to remind himself that the possibility of it being a Hydra agent are under 15 percent; he relaxes slightly. The footsteps are those of a woman carrying something heavy. He does not want to look in at the stairs but fear overpowers him. And then he sees her.

You leave Madeleine with a lighter heart than you anticipated. She had made you promise to stop by over the holidays, knowing that you were alone for the first time during Christmas. You had wanted to go and see you family, desperately so, but the bad weather wouldn't permit it and flights were cancelled. So you had no other option than to stay at your apartment. At first, you were upset by this; after all Christmas with your family and friends was always one of the most cherished moments of the whole year for you. Now you are a bit relieved. While Christmas is your favourite time of the year, it is also the most stressful and the past couple of weeks in the bakery had been time consuming as well. You smile, making a plan in your head what you would do during the next few days. The bakery would be closed for three days giving you time to watch your favourite holiday movies (you still haven't watched either The Holiday or Love Actually this year), working on your thesis and reading. Besides baking, reading is a passion you've always had ever since being a little girl. Your mother would read you bedtime stories of Pippi Longstockings and when you were old enough you embarked on a magical journey with Harry. Yes, maybe it is time to re-read Harry Potter again. For the 28th time, not that you are counting. With these uplifting thoughts in mind, you make your way up the steps leading to the platform, your tote bag heavy with Madeleine's own gingerbread cookies. You hear an announcement that your train won't be here for another half hour and you curse inside of your head. It is freezing and even though you love winter, you'd rather not stay outside in the cold for a longer period of time. You come face to face with the platform and see a familiar looking man standing in the middle of the platform, looking at you as if he's just seen a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
